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Young Indian Librarian loses sari and dignity with four men.

Never before had one spoken to her as she left yawning and drowsy into the night. She hadn't thought it possible to be more nervous than she had been, but this unexpected interaction had set her mind racing. Was he playing with her? Had he asked one of the guards to speak to her just to freak her out?

Fumbling, and bent against the blustery wind, she deviated from her normal, well-lit path to her damp, cold flat, and instead turned onto one of the many paths careening off in different directions across the dark expanse of grass. In the daytime, this park was flooded with students studying in good weather, sports teams, dogs and children, but at night it was terribly lit, disorientating and notorious for crime. She took one of the less maintained, narrower paths. It was unlit, she couldn't see far, and the evenly-spaced arcing trees made it feel like she was not advancing any further. The rustling of the wind in the trees made it impossible to tell if anyone was on the same path, or another, and in the wind and sleet, any turn she made to check rewarded her with a mouthful of her own hair, her eyes squinted against the sleet in the darkness.

The further she went, the less sure she was that she wanted to do this, there could be anyone out here, she was cold, she was soaked through from the rain, would he even have the guts? Was he even here? Was he just playing with her? How stupid she had been to trust anyone to put her in this position! What if she was grabbed, not by him, but by a stranger with that same dark part, one with no outlet or control. But she was just more than halfway across the park, it made no sense to turn back now. She would safe word. She could still say no she could still back out.

It was as if he had evaporated from the rain -- his hand around her wrist, tugging her backwards, she slipped a little and he let her fall to her side, her leg scraped against the rough tarmac and she whimpered as grains of sand and stone and dirt lodged themselves into her. His hand was over face from behind, there was something inside it, a rag, it reeked, and as it was forced into her gnashing and resisting mouth, she felt the rough wool of one of his long sports socks that he never washed.

"Shut the fuck up."

His growl in her ear took her by surprise, he had disciplined her before, he had punished her before, but she had never heard this raw, earthy tone before. The accent he moderated so well amongst their peer group was out in full force, and as he pushed her head to verge of the pavement, smushing her face into the vile softness of the mud, he kept his hand on her wrist for a moment.

Two taps means stop.

She didn't tap though, her t-shirt had been pushed down by the mud as she landed, and now that mud which she tried so desperately to keep out of her nostrils and stuffed mouth, sullied her clothes. A small twig found its way into her bra and pricked obstinately into the pimpled edge of her areola. This sudden invasion made her aware of her breasts, her nipples were hard, it was cold, that was sure, but as she noticed their hard nubs, a jolt shot up from her sex, through her centre, jerking her innards and consciousness as she realised that she was not going to tap, that she was going to do this, or rather, let him do this to her.

Her skirt was around her waist, when had that happened? Her panties, already well worn, were ripped unceremoniously into rags. He pulled them with two fingers, the friction against her cunt made her squeal, before he slapped her in the cunt, hard. She jerked forward, into the mud, it filled her nostrils and she couldn't open her eyes for fear of getting it in them, gasping for fresh air through the gag, the mud and her own drool and snot.

Her cunt was roughly invaded by his two fingers, they were calloused and found that spot inside her quickly, she knew this feeling well, perhaps he wouldn't be so hard on her, he firmly s

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